Are you up to the task?
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya spend a sleepless night discussing the merits and drawbacks of their job. Inspired by the George Harrison song "Save the World." pre-saga


There were times they seemed to be running ragged, heading out on assignment after assignment. If it wasn't lasers in outer space, it was stolen nuclear bombs, doomsday machines, poison gas, mind controlling drugs, coups, invasions, assassinations. When did it ever stop?

Napoleon Solo, was tired, dog tired as he leaned against a wall outside a toilet in the back of dingy bar waiting for his partner to emerge.

Illya had gotten a nasty gash when he'd been hit by a beer mug launched by a fellow Russian who, when Kuryakin had finished with him, would interfere for the last time. His actions put an end to the bar fight as well, with the other patrons nervously backing off.

His partner emerged, his still face wet from the water he'd splashed on it and holding a damp paper towel to his forehead; he was putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

"Let me see chum?" Napoleon said.

"It is fine. Can we just get the hell out of here before something else happens?"

"Not until I get a look at your head."

Illya huffed, as he took away the towel, tilting his head so the angle made it easier for his partner to view the wound.

"Looks like you might need stitches."

"No doctors. I have a butterfly bandage in my kit back at the hotel that will do. Now may we go?"

"After you," Solo gestured with his hand, figuring it wasn't worth trying to argue with a man he was accustomed to when it came to stubbornness. Following behind his no-so-steady partner, Solo refrained from grabbing hold of him, letting Illya's dignity remain intact.

As they caught a taxi back to their hotel the Russian's color began to return. Once up to their room, he at least let Napoleon perform a little first aid; cleaning the wound, using a little iodine and finally applying the bandage with a grunt of satisfaction.

Illya leaned in towards the bathroom mirror, examining Solo's handiwork.

"Looks worse than it is chum."

"Told you it was fine," Illya mumbled.

"But are you? How do you feel?"

"I hav' splittin' headache."

Napoleon tried looking into his partner's eyes. Something wasn't right, their movement seemed abnormal.

"Whaaa," Illya slurred, jerking his head back.

"Stop moving tovarisch, let me look at your eyes," Napoleon grabbed him by the chin with one hand, holding him still and flashed a small penlight, examining Illya's pupils.

"One is larger than the other. Do you feel sick?"

"Just heaaadache and a bit dizzy. You suspect a con...concussion?"

_"Da_ my friend, but maybe not a bad one. Looks like it's going to be a long night," Napoleon said. Helping Illya into his bed; he knew he had to keep the man awake. The last think he needed was his partner going to sleep and possibly not waking up.

"Are you hungry chum, want something to eat? I can order room service."

"Not really, just tired." He closed his eyes.

"Oh no, no you don't." Solo shook Illya's arm to keep him from dozing off. The man refusing food was a sure sign he wasn't feeling well.

Napoleon ordered a carafe of strong black coffee and some chicken noodle soup for himself. He had to keep Illya awake and the best way to do that was by talking.

"Do you ever get tired of it all, I mean sick and tired...no, maybe those weren't the right choice of words," Napoleon shook his head.

"Do not be ridiculous, it is valid question." Illya paused for a moment, deliberating over his choice of words as his accent thickened ever so slightly.

"There are times I become frustrated as our efforts to stay ahead of...bad guys, seems to be a losing battle, but in the end it is worth it. What we do is good, at least that is whaaa..what I would like to believe I..I suppose. Are you getting tired of it?"

"Honestly sometimes I do feel that way. We've been caught in a revolving door of missions lately, one worse than the next and it makes me wonder if the world is still any better off for all our efforts."

"You are usually the optimist." Illya shifted his position, hiking up the pillow behind him as he sipped his second cup of coffee." Are you having doubts about yourself or perhaps us?"

"Maybe, well not about us. I'm not sure about me. Sometimes I lose a bit of confidence in myself. I know I'm cocky, but that's bravura. So much of what we do falls under the heading of chance, luck really, or is it just kismet...karma? We deal with death and destruction nearly every day, so when do we get to deal with life and building something? Napoleon pushed aside his bowl of soup." I mean, how many times can we save the world?"

Illya shook his head in surprise that Napoleon was having doubts about his 'Solo luck.'

"As many times as it take. We deal with life constantly, do we not preserve it every time we win?"Illya snorted. "Life goes on and that is good too. How can it not be? You are tired. No, exhausted and that can make anyone begin to question themselves and have self doubts."

"Maybe you're right tovarisch. I don't think I've ever not been truly optimistic, not in my nature," he yawned, fighting off sleep and remembering he had to keep the Russian awake. That had to be his focus.

The conversation became deeper, bordering on the hypothetical and theoretical, with neither man convincing the other of anything. It was when dawn broke that Napoleon allowed Illya to finally fall asleep. Enough time had passed, his speech pattern had returned to normal and his partner seemed bright-eyed enough in spite of being kept awake all night.

Solo yawned, and wasn't far behind him, letting himself at last drift off to sleep as well.

The familiar warbling of their communicators called to them from their dreams with a gasp all too soon.

"Good morning gentleman I have an assignment in Madrid that needs your immediate attention,"Alexander Waverly announced. "I'm aware that you haven't had much time to recuperate between missions; are you both up to the task?"

"Yes sir," Solo and Kuryakin answered in unison.

"Very well, contact me when you arrive in Spain, and I will give you the details at that time. Work quickly on this one. An armament consortium has been illegally selling plutonium to a group of anarchists. Waverly out."

"See it never ends. You take the shower first," Napoleon offered, though there was an ulterior motive behind it; he wanted to see if his partner was steady on his feet. "You feeling all right, headache, any dizziness still?"

"All better mother, thank you." This time Illya smiled in earnest as he headed off to the bathroom with no signs of unsteadiness, though once inside he popped a couple of aspirin. Staying up talking all night could create a headache as well, though this was a different kind and a very minor one by comparison to yesterday's head pounding.

The Russian shaved and as he stepped out from the bathroom, his waist wrapped in a large white towel; steam filled the air around him.

"Hey, did you leave me any hot water?" Napoleon asked.

"Yes, I was cognizant of that my friend. The bathroom is all yours."

A short while later they were both dressed, preparing to begin their next journey straight to the airport. They'd grab more coffee and sandwiches on the way to the airport

"Ready?" Napoleon lifted his suitcase from the bed, pausing for Illya to do the same. "After all we gotta save the world, someone else may want to use it after we're gone." His words were said with a confident smile.

"I could not have said it better."

Solo was pleased his partner sounded more like himself as he led the way out the door. Illya followed, closing the hotel room door after them and continued down the hall to the elevator.

What this next mission held in store for them was a great unknown. It was a given they would be at the mercy of evil hearts determined to reduce the planet to hell, but that didn't matter.

They had to save the world, it was their job and they were up to the task. Always.

.

* photo manip courtesy of the late Svetlanacat. This story was written for her before she passed away. Keep her in your thoughts and prayers


End file.
